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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987289">wash my hands clean in your holy water</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyPrincess/pseuds/HappyPrincess'>HappyPrincess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Exes, Laundry, M/M, Plot With Porn, Unreliable Narrator, like. a little plot and a tiny bit of porn, not.. really blasphemy but maybe a little. as a treat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:07:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyPrincess/pseuds/HappyPrincess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 5am and Harry is in the basement, watching his laundry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wash my hands clean in your holy water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurdyGurdy/gifts">HurdyGurdy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello one direction no you don't see me<br/>this was a wip i started for <a href="https://jlf23tumble.tumblr.com/">jen</a> TWO YEARS AGO but then i got annoyed by 1d and the fandom and stopped writing but it's your birthday jen!! so i cleaned this up. kinda. it's not a finished story but i Am finished with it. Happy birthday!!!!</p><p>to anyone else: don't expect any more 1d fics from me. done with that. get into mdzs instead</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s spinning and Harry’s heartbeat slows with every turn. The foam billows on the edges of the drum, whipping against the concaved glass, sealing the clothes behind it in a white fog. The top vibrates, almost blurry where it meets the wall, polished silver shiny against the dirty tapestry. Stains have left evidence of countless of bags and baskets, open bottles, forgotten cups of coffee, paled gum, little remnants of the lives of the people in the building. The washing machine blurts and babbles as it struggles, lulling him back to the sleep he had reluctantly awakened himself from.</p><p>It’s 5am and he’s in the basement of his flat complex, slumped in one of the plastic chairs, blinking against the dreams that still sway behind his eyes, watching his clothes spin. He’s a little cold and a little sweaty and the jumper he’s wearing is pinching at his pits because he’s crossed his arms to prevent his chest from breaking open and reveal his little damaged heart but also – but also because it’s not his and it’s a size too small.</p><p>It’s 5am and he’s watching over his laundry because he’s been neglecting it for weeks and this is the only time of day he can be sure Louis won’t step down here.</p><p>It’s the semester break and most of his fellow students have gone home to their parents or are taking a weekend trip to the near coast, probably bundled up in their tents or screaming at the tops of their lungs, but he’s here. Right here. In a city he didn’t even expect to be in one year ago, homework impatiently sitting four storeys up on his desk, single bed in his room feeling entirely too big because up until the beginning of last month it wasn’t just his. He’s staying here for the holidays and he knows Louis is too, knows that because they had originally made plans to drive up north together but cancelled because, well, you don’t really go on a getaway with your ex, do you.</p><p>He’s right here and Louis is probably nearby, unknowing of the efforts Harry indulges in to avoid the reminders of how it ended and why he should’ve fought more, fought less.</p><p>It’s 5am and the fucking truth is Harry can’t sleep.</p><p>He can’t fucking sleep in his too small bed, he can’t close his eyes to prayers of guilt, he can’t change into his own pyjamas because they smell entirely too wrong, and he has a fucking broken heart that might as well stop because it sure isn’t doing a great job of healing. Isn’t heartbreak supposed to fade? Isn’t that what everyone says, give it time, give it time, well it’s been bloody two months now and it still feels like the first morning after he realised all of Louis’ stuff was missing from his room. Except for the jumper. It had been in his suitcase from their last trip to the beach.</p><p>The washing machine shudders. For a few seconds it seems as it might come to a halt but then it splutters, jerks and keeps on spinning, foam now thinning out. He briefly wonders if he made sure to keep the clothes all white but then decides with a glare at the flash of one of his shirts that they could turn grey for all that he cares - at least they’d match his mood. And the weather. And the ceiling. And the pavement that has been littered with rain the past days, and the walls in the stairwell that need a new paint job, and the tiles in the shared kitchen that no one ever mops, and the standard carpet in his dorm that mutes all colours.</p><p>They planned on getting a flat of their own. A flat with a nice kitchen and a bathroom with a window and a bedroom that smells of scented candles and one small study with a couch for when they need time apart. It’s a cruel twist of fate, he thinks, they sure got their time apart now and didn’t even have to pay more rent for it. Sale on heartbreak, everything must go.</p><p>He tugs at the sleeves of the jumper like Louis always does. They barely cover his wrists even though he could’ve sworn they were long enough a few weeks ago, perfect to shield himself from the cold and curl his fingers into the familiar fabric. Maybe the jumper shrunk, just like he shrunk in on himself. Maybe it will turn smaller until the pressure around his ribs becomes even more unbearable and he’s forced to cut it away, harsh chops that’d wound his skin in the process and leave him bleeding.</p><p>“Well, okay then,” comes from the door and then there’s Louis pulling a face and backtracking into the hallway.</p><p>“No, wait,” Harry calls, clearing his throat with a dry cough. “I should be done in a second.”</p><p>So, maybe it’s 5 am and he can’t sleep and told himself Louis wouldn’t be here because it’s a Sunday and Louis always goes out partying on Saturday nights, at least usually, during the semester mostly. Definitely not when there’s the module 3 exam tomorrow morning and he’ll have to wake up early to study what he had neglected for the past months. And so what, maybe Sunday mornings are Louis’ laundry hours and so what, maybe Harry knows he usually goes early because he likes to read his trashy novels in secret.</p><p>There’s a pink and black cover peeking out from the bag Louis has slung over his shoulder, some sort of sunset with two naked people posing wantonly. “You’re honestly still reading that shit,” he says.</p><p>“You’re honestly still a fucking cunt,” Louis says and, because he has always been driven by spite, struts inside the room and rips open a washing machine to cram his clothes in there. He doesn’t separate the colours.</p><p>Harry doesn’t reply because it’s kind of true and if he’d open his mouth it’d be either in another vicious snarl or a desperate plea for forgiveness. Or a plea for a kiss. Just one kiss, just one perfect goodbye kiss because they didn’t have one and the last one he remembers was entirely too profane.</p><p>He stays quiet as Louis throws in a tide pod, slams the hatchway shut and punches in the wrong setting. Way too hot. He plants himself into the other seat against the wall like he needs his presence to be loud. He always needs to be loud. Always needs to make up for something, rushing in with everything he has, yelling at God to go fuck themselves. Their alignment forces Harry to turn his head if he wants to keep looking at him but there’s no sense in trying to hide his greedy gaze. He laps up the sight of Louis’ body, the sunken shoulders, the spread thighs, the neck that’s curving back as he’s resting his head on the backrest, his jaw softened by stubble, his pink lips swollen from sleep. There are purple bags under his eyes, lashes heavy with something Harry thinks, fears, hopes is more than tiredness.</p><p>Louis’s cheek twitches. “Is there ever going to be a time when you don’t stare at me like a creep?”</p><p>Harry sighs deeply.</p><p>“Is that all you’re gonna do? Stare and moan?”</p><p>“I wish I could kiss you.”</p><p>Louis rubs at his mouth but he can’t hide his smile, not from Harry’s eager eyes. “Baby, you keep doing this.”</p><p>Yeah, so maybe it’s 5 am and Harry’s bed it too big but hasn’t been empty most nights the last week and they didn’t have a goodbye kiss but they’ve had many goodbye fucks and it doesn’t heal the hurt but it also prevents his heart from crumbling to shambles. So what.</p><p>“I thought you had to study for the exam today,” he accuses.</p><p>“It’s fucking five am,” Louis says easily.</p><p>“Right.” Well. It’s true.</p><p>“Did you really wake up at this hour to catch me reading advanced literature and stare at me?”</p><p>It isn’t said entirely without cruelty. There’s a dig in there. The nudge to his side a little too sharp. He smacks his lips. Watches the foam disappear from his clothes, the drum turning and washing away the sodden water. “No.” He drawls the word. “I wanted to go on a run but then I realised it’s too cold so I thought, because, uh, because I was up, I might as well do something.”</p><p>Louis doesn’t answer. They sit in silence.</p><p>Ten minutes go by and he is so <em>aware</em>, aware of where he ends and Louis begins and where the grey floor stretches between them, and where his nerves feel electrified because he knows what is about to come.</p><p>The washing machine beeps loudly, once, twice, then chokes quiet. His laundry is done.</p><p>“I better..,” he begins and stands up to cross the room, squatting to pull at the hatch. He almost falls on his arse and has to balance himself by going on his knees. With a cough, he reaches for the basket he placed behind the machine and begins to pull at the first item. It’s cord pants that have managed to turn inside out and also devour a few socks. The drenched fabric makes him shiver. One by one he entangles and places the clothes until he has to reach up to the sides of the drum to get to the last stray underwear, the damp smell of jeans and the lemon detergent sharp in his nose. He stares down at the wet clothes in the basket, his mother’s voice in his mind urging him to put it in the dryer as fast as possible, his neck prickling with the knowledge of two eyes upon him, his back straightening involuntarily.</p><p>Louis shifts behind him. In a soft tone, he says: “So. You wanna stay on your knees, then?”</p><p>Harry’s stomach drops, heat pulsing in his groin. “Yeah,” he rasps and turns around without standing up.</p><p>He wants to be filled. He wants to get his mouth fucked. And he’s going to get it because they might not be together anymore, but Louis still knows how to read him and is still attuned to his needs because they were amazing together, so in sync, so perfect. He begins to crawl.</p><p>“At least put them in the drier first, jeez, so needy.”</p><p>He closes his eyes and breathes in harshly, not because he’s exasperated but because heat steals the air from his lungs and it’s true, he <em>needs</em>. So he does as told. He manages to get himself upright despite his trembling limbs, and he manages to start the machine despite his blurry vision. When he’s back on the floor again, safe between Louis’ ankles, all he sees are his hands. The way they frame the zipper. Their size in comparison to his thighs. With reverent fingers, he pulls down Louis’ foreskin, revealing his tender cock, one drop of pre-come already sliding down his pinks tip. One of his thumbs catches it and it feels like his hands are washed clean, made holy. His mouth waters and he doesn’t wait for permission to put his lips where he wants them, tasting the salt, lapping up the wetness, sinking into the rush of the stream.</p><p>It’s not quite 5am anymore.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you bye!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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